


Happy Halloween

by EmiKougamine



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Comedy, Friendship, Gen, Hetalia Halloween
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-29
Updated: 2019-10-30
Packaged: 2021-01-08 04:51:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 11,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21230105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmiKougamine/pseuds/EmiKougamine
Summary: Or, why the kids should never be left unsupervised.It's the annual World Nation Halloween Party, and the micronations are determined to have some fun! And when their plans include access to all the candy the world has to offer - literally! - things get just a little out of hand...Human names and country names used.





	1. Fang-cy Dress

**Author's Note:**

> For this fic, I'm using the term ‘micronation’ to refer to all the children, including Moldova. I’m well aware that Moldova is a country in its’ own right, but when referring to all the children, he’s included in the term simply because it’s easier than saying something like ‘the micronations, plus Moldova’. When referring to him separately I use nation or country instead. Sorry Moldova.

“Yo, dudes, glad you could make it!”

The loud American voice greeted everyone as they entered the wide double doors of the world meeting centre. This year, it was Alfred’s turn to organise the annual Halloween party, and he was going all-out in typical American fashion to celebrate the spooky event. Colourful streamers hung from the chandeliers and windows; twisting ribbons of red, green, purple and orange. Cauldrons filled with mysterious liquid bubbled, foamed and hissed; skeletons reached bony hands from shadowed corners, and pumpkins galore were set into the alcoves lining the walls at regular intervals, their leering faces throwing flickering lights from the candles placed in their carved insides. 

The many tables laid out along the back wall were covered in bowls and platters of yummy treats, with an appropriately All Hallows Eve twist. Cocktail sausages served as severed fingers, marshmallows melted like gooey eyes, cakes were iced to look rotting and moist, and cookies in every freaky shape imaginable were piled high in staggering mounds. Of course, for the faint hearted, or those who simply wished their food to look less intimidating, there was also a table filled with normal, undecorated food.

To get to the main hall, the guests were ushered down a series of twisting corridors, lit with an eerie glow. Cobwebs and dust sheets hung from the curtains and gathered in the corners, and the long-dead subjects in the paintings seemed to watch as the living passed by. A panoply of helpful undead were on hand (or paw, bone, or ectoplasm) to guide the way – grinning skeletons, cackling witches, shuffling zombies and moaning banshees. They were, of course, the ever-present staff, who relished the opportunity to forego their day-to-day tasks in favour of something far more entertaining.

Passing through the murky passages, the guests reached the main hall, appreciative murmurs and gasps leaving their mouths at the sight of Alfred’s efforts. Matthew was there to greet the guests as well, handing out party bags with an assortment of candy, toys and accessories, each one tailored to the country receiving it.

Just as the last of the countries arrived and had been given their gifts, the lights switched off, plunging the room into an eerie gloom. Not pitch-black darkness, no, but a weird watery green that was somehow far spookier. The effect was of being underwater, lit by a fluorescent glow. It was, in fact, the light from the fire escape signs, but it proved a very effective addition to the atmosphere.

After allowing the darkness to continue for a few moments, the lights switched back on, this time in the form of the spotlights centring on the stage. Alfred stepped up, taking the microphone off the stand as he addressed the crowd. 

“Welcome, ladies and gents, boys and ghouls, to the World Meeting Halloween party! Since it’s the hero hosting, I promise you’re gonna have an awesome time. Everyone got their gift bags?” a chorus of cheers and thank you’s, and Alfred nodded.

“Great! So, since we’re all here, it’s time to start the party! Let’s make this Halloween the most awesome one yet!” Everyone cheered and clapped again, and the lights came back on, alternating colours flashing in the typical disco arrangement. Music started blaring from the massive sub-woofers, and people started drifting towards the snacks or their friends.

Alfred jumped down off the stage and went to greet his guests.

“Yo, Iggy, great to see you!” he greeted Arthur. “Cool costume, by the way. Love the hat!”

Arthur nodded at the compliment. “You too, the costume looks great.” he replied. The Englishman’s outfit consisted of crisp white trousers worn over black boots, a dark cream shirt with grey strips, and a blue waistcoat with a short cloak, tied with a large bow, worn over the top. A small bowler hat of the same colour rested at a jaunty angle on top of his head. Small fangs peeked out from between his lips, and a little felt bat perched on his shoulder.

Alfred beamed, adjusting the mask on the side of his head. “I know, right? And there was totally a real Friday 13th this month, too! How cool is that?”

Arthur smiled at the American’s enthusiasm, then nodded as he excused himself to go and greet the other guests. Arthur watched his friend for a few moments as he bounced from group to group, excitedly admiring the many costumes on display, then turned at the sound of his name being called. 

The voice, which sounded distinctly Transylvanian, belonged to Vladimir, Arthur’s friend and fellow magic user. The Romanian was accompanied by his friend Dmitri and younger brother Alexandru. Vlad was, as far as Arthur could tell, dressed exactly the same as usual – scarlet trench coat with the sleeves turned up to show the black and white stripes underneath, baggy brown trousers tucked into black boots, and a little red hat with white-and-green ribbons perched at an angle on his head. The difference, however, was in his attitude – instead of using magic to dampen down his supernatural nature, today he was letting it show in full glory. With no need to hide the unnatural glow of his skin and crimson eyes, the sharpness of his fangs, and the overall sense of speed, beauty and danger, he positively radiated the sense of something _other_.

Alexandru, however, had forgone his usual oversized cream coat and too-big boots in favour of what was obviously a costume of some sort, though Arthur wasn’t entirely sure what it was from. He was wearing a double breasted blue jacket with shiny gold buttons over a white dress shirt, the ends of which still hung several inches past his wrists, and cream shorts turned over once at the ends. Brown slacks covered his feet, and a yellow scarf was slung around his neck, tied in a large knot. Like his brother, Alexandru also wore a small hat, this one a deep navy decorated with a little white bow. Most striking of all, though, was the left half of his hair, which had been dyed a pure silvery-white. Together with the mismatched lights twinkling in the pupils of his eyes, and the tattered, scarecrow like doll with bleeding eyes he carried, it was a most sinister image. 

“Hello,” Arthur greeted them. “Blimey, you really pushed the boat out, didn’t you?” he asked. As usual, it was difficult to tell if the Brit was being sincere or sarcastic.

Dmitri grinned, ignoring Vlad’s roll of the eyes and quiet scoff. However much the two loved each other, it had taken much debate and disagreement before the Romanian had given up trying to persuade his friend not to wear the iconic tan jacket, white trousers and black boots that he loved so much. Apparently, sharing similar facial features with the main character of a certain popular anime was not enough of a reason to dress up in such a costume, though in the end the Bulgarian’s wishes had evidently won out after all. 

Regardless, Vlad acknowledged his friend’s ‘compliment’. “Might as well go with the stereotype once in a while,” he said. “Since it’s Halloween and all.”

Arthur nodded at the logic, then opened his mouth to speak. “Actually, about that, I…ah, no, never mind, it doesn’t matter.” He began, but hesitated before falling silent again. 

Vlad gave him a curious look. “What is it?” he asked.

“May I ask you something?” Arthur asked. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, though,” he added, ever polite.

“You already did, but go on,” Vlad replied, already knowing what the question would be.

“Well, I’ve always wondered…The whole vampire thing, are you really…?” he trailed off, unsure how to ask without sounding rude.

Dmitri sighed and shook his head as Vlad answered. “No, we’re not,” he stated. "I mean, I know I'm playing it up for tonight, but that's different.”

“Different how?”

Vlad sighed. “It’s what people think, isn’t it? Romania = Transylvania = Vampires. Neither of us are _actually_ vampires, because our people are human, obviously. But because it’s what other countries associate us with, we can take on aspects of vampires as we choose. Like, we can grow fangs, we can see clearly in the dark, we can grow wings. Basically, whatever fiction decides vampires can do that humans can’t already, we can choose to replicate.”

Arthur nodded at the explanation. “I see. And is your magic part of that, or due to your heritage as a nation?”

“A bit of both.” Vlad replied. “We Magyars have always had a deep respect for magic, and practised it, but some fiction has vampires as magic-users too, so I get power both ways.”

“I can’t use magic though!” Alexandru, who had previously been silent, piped up. “I can make my fangs go away, and big brother is teaching me to use my wings, but I can’t do spells.”

“That’s because you’re too young.” Vlad told him. “Give it a few centuries and you’ll be able to. I couldn’t either, at first. At least, not very well.” 

Alexandru nodded, satisfied with his brother’s reassurance, then looked around, abruptly bored with the adults’ conversation. Seeing his restlessness, Dmitri volunteered to get drinks and food, taking the younger nation with him. Vlad and Arthur’s talk moved away from the relative humanity of personified countries, in favour of more mundane, everyday topics. The conversation continued until the Bulgarian and Moldovan returned, along with some new companions.

“Mind if we interrupt?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonus points if you get the references! ;)
> 
> Edit: I realised I'd kept a big of dialogue from my original draft here, where Bulgaria was dressed as a vampire too. I've cleaned the dialogue up so it makes sense now, sorry for any confusion there


	2. Costume Comparison

_“Mind if we interrupt?”_

The one asking had very pale blond hair framing a delicate, elfin face; a cross-shaped hairclip pinning back strands that would otherwise fall over deep indigo eyes. It was Lukas, accompanied by the rest of the Nordics. The five, along with Peter, had evidently taken the theme ‘skeleton crew’ rather literally, dressed as they were as ghost pirates.

“Oh, hello, Lukas.” The magic club greeted their third member, a quiet Norwegian who specialised in ice manipulation.

“Hello,” he replied. He looked a little uncomfortable surrounded by the noise and energy of the crowd, but smiled when he talked to his friends.

“Nice costumes,” he said, gesturing to the vampires, both English and European.

“You too.” Arthur replied. “And the rest of you; I love the theme you’ve got.”

“Aren’t they cool?” Mathias butted in. “I chose them, of course, ‘cuz the others couldn’t make up their minds.”

Lukas frowned at the Dane’s words, but Vlad and Arthur smiled at his obvious enthusiasm.

“You were the one who couldn’t make up his mind.” Tino corrected, coming to stand next to the rest of his family. Strangely, it was the gentle Finn who looked the scariest, having donned a skull mask as well a the tricorn hat (though he’d removed it to be able to talk).

“’E wanted t’ be a Draugr,” Berwald explained; the Swede as laconic as usual in a top accented by a skeletal rib design.

The vampires seemed to understand the word, but Arthur looked confused.

“I’m sorry, a what?” he asked.

“You guys don’t have a word for it in English,” Emil said. The Icelander looked extremely out of place in a sleeveless ensemble, while his brother had opted for a fancier-looking blue coat and tails.

Mathias, grinning in a traditional get-up, including skull-and-crossboned patch over his right eye, was quick to explain. “They’re warriors who don’t get into Valhalla and are cursed to fight for eternity. Like Viking zombies! Cool, huh?”

Arthur nodded in understanding. “I think I know what you mean,” he said. “They’re enemies in a game, right? You find them in dungeons and tombs. Alfred plays the series; he says they have good loot but their Shouts are annoying, whatever that means.”

“Well you certainly got that part right.” Lukas muttered under his breath. Mathias winked, leaning down to whisper something about shouting and booty to the smaller man that caused him to flush bright red. 

“S-shut up!” Lukas hissed, scowling at the Dane. The others smiled, but wisely ignored the outburst. Peter and Alexandru, however, looked confused.

“I don’t understand what you said, but I don’t think I want to.” Peter said. Like his fictional namesake’s nemesis, he was dressed as the young captain of the Jolly Roger.

“Me neither.” Alex echoed. He shared a look with Sealand, who nodded.

“We’re going to find the others and play hide and seek,” the older declared. “You adults are probably going to get drunk and try to dance, and I don’t think I want to see that.” With that, the two ran off in search of the other micronations, giggling as they went.

The group was left in silence for moment, then looked at each other, trying not to laugh.

“Ah, Children are so refreshing, non?” The sentiment was voiced by Francis, who had joined the group just in time to hear the last comment.

Arthur scowled automatically. “Who asked, you, frog?” he retorted. The Frenchman merely smiled charmingly, more than used to the Brit’s antagonism towards him. Ignoring the taunt, he exchanged greetings with the rest of the group, complimenting their costumes as they, in turn, admired his. Like Vlad and Dmitri, the theme was the vampiric undead, but his outfit was more befitting of an eighteenth-century aristocrat than the traditional Dracula’s opera suit. A coat of rich blue velvet was worn open over an elaborately embroidered waistcoat of the same colour, though lighter in shade. Brown trousers were tucked into high-heeled black boots that hugged the calves, and a froth of white lace spilled from his throat. 

Once the greetings were over, the group continued chatting for a while, until Francis was called over to the drinks table by Antonio, who was dressed as a Pirate from his days as an Armada _Capitan. _Bidding the allies adieu, the Frenchman wandered over to join his two best friends. Gil was a little too much in character as a devil, (consisting of a horned black hoodie, bright turquoise jeans and a huge silver pitchfork) as he was trying to add something to the punch bowl, and it was only Antonio’s half-hearted grip on his arm that prevented him from doing so. Seeing Francis’ approach, the Prussian gave up on his attempt at spiking the drink in favour of giving his friend a (thankfully unadulterated) glass. Francis accepted gracefully, and the three known collectively as the Bad Touch Trio began plotting their entertainment for the rest of the evening. It would no doubt involve copious amounts of alcohol, charm and flirtation raised to the max, and end with a healthy dose of scolding, not least from Gil’s younger and very long-suffering brother Ludwig, who took it upon himself to be the more responsible one.

Said brother - a werewolf - was standing by one of the trestle tables, calmly discussing something with Kiku. The little Japanese was wearing a traditional white kimono edged with dark blue thread, and an Inari mask was balanced on the side of his head. A fluffy white tail emerged from the back of the kimono, completing the look of a mysterious kitsune. Somewhere in the crowd, Kiku’s older brother, Wang Yao, was dressed in the attire of his country as well, as a vengeful _oni _from Chinese mythology. 

Ludwig was also keeping a close eye on one of the figures on the dance floor; the little Italian, Feliciano. Together, Feli and his younger brother, Sebastian, were trying to get their older brother, Lovino, to dance with them and look like he was actually enjoying it. The Vargas brothers were identical werewolves tonight, complete with large fluffy ears, tails and paws. 

The younger ones’ efforts had so far been unsuccessful, but unknown to their older brother, the pair had a trick up their sleeves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More bonus points for getting the references! ;)


	3. The Challenge

“Come on, Lovi, please? Just a tiny bit, I know you can do it!” Feli pleaded with his twin, his normally cheerful smile turning down a little as his brother scowled.

“NO! No way in hell am I dancing with all these _idiota_!” Lovino snapped. “You two have enough energy for everyone here, you go ahead and dance if you want to make fools of yourselves. But leave me out of it!”

Feli looked disappointed at being unable to change his twin’s mind, but Sebastian was undeterred.

“So, what you mean is, you can’t dance, so you don’t want to be embarrassed by us showing you up, is that it?” he teased.

Lovino glared at his brothers. “I can dance better than both of you _Fratelli,_” he retorted. “I just don’t want to!”

While Lovino and Sebastian were arguing, Feliciano slipped away unseen, taking advantage of his brothers’ distraction. He returned a few moments later, Antonio in tow, whose puzzled expression slowly changed to one of amusement as Feli explained the situation. They came back just in time to hear the conclusion of the argument.

“Prove it,” Sebastian was saying as his eyes glimmered with challenge.

“What?” Caught off guard by the other’s sudden statement, Lovino could only stare warily as he eyed his youngest brother. What was he up to?

Noticing the reappearance of his twin, along with the Spaniard, Lovino looked from his brothers to his old guardian, suspicion clouding his tone as he spoke.

“Prove what? And what the hell does it have to do with the tomato bastard?” he asked.

Antonio tilted his head, examining Lovi as though he were sizing up an opponent.

“Feli tells me you don’t want to dance because you’re afraid you’ll be shown up in front of your brothers. You say you can dance better than they can, so show me. I was the one who taught you how to dance, after all.”

“Hell no, bastard!” Lovino spat. “I’m not gonna dance, end of!” He crossed his arms, glaring at his former guardian as waves of seething anger radiated from him. 

Antonio was unaffected by the Italian’s outburst. “So, you really can’t, _Romano? _Such a shame. All those lessons, gone to waste.” He purred, deliberately antagonising the younger man.

“Don’t call me that name!” Lovino demanded furiously. He hated being referred to only as his country’s location rather than his own personality.

“A deal, then. I won’t call you Romano anymore, if you show me what you’ve got. Prove to me that you are better than your brothers, that you are worth of being _Lovino.” _The Spaniard’s voice was low, provocative, knowing exactly how to strike the chord of competitive spirit in his rival.

Backed into a corner, Lovino could only glower hopelessly at those surrounding him.

“Fine.” He snarled. “But don’t start crying when I do better than you, _bastardo_.” With that, he turned and strode into the middle of the hall, not bothering to wait for the Spaniard to follow.

Antonio waited for a few moments, sharing a wink with the brothers left behind.

“We’ll see who’s crying who’s name at the end of this, _mi amore.” _He murmured at the Italian’s retreating back, before walking ahead to join him. Sebastian snorted at the comment and turned around to hide his reaction, while Feli merely looked confused.

The brothers went to join Ludwig and Kiku at one of the tables dotted around the sides of the hall. While the two had noticed the exchange between the Italians and the Spaniard, they didn’t know what it had entailed.

“What was that about?” Ludwig asked as the two sat down, Kiku politely filling their glasses and handing the wine to them.

Feliciano and Sebastian shared a knowing look.

“Lovi actually really likes dancing, but he gets shy around other people.” Feli explained.

“But, if he’s given a push, like a challenge, he can get past it and have fun.” Sebastian continued. “We knew if we didn’t do something, Lovi would spend the evening alone, wanting to join in but not sure how to. So, we came up with a plan, and Antonio helped us with it.”

Ludwig privately thought that the Italian didn’t _look_ as though he was enjoying himself that much, but he supposed his brothers knew him better than he did. Him and Lovino really didn’t see eye to eye – the older Vargas resented how close Feli was to him, and blamed the German for breaking his younger brother’s heart when he left without a trace all those centuries ago. Even though Ludwig wasn’t the same person as the one Feli grew up with, Lovino still resented him for leaving, and worse, for having no memory of the fact. 

The German’s musing of the source of the Italian’s antagonism was interrupted by a sharp blast of feedback from the microphone.

“Sorry guys!” Al apologised as everyone winced and covered their ears. The music stopped at the song ended, and everyone stopped what they were doing to look at the American on the stage.

“Hey guys, is everyone having fun?” he asked the crowd. The nations rose their glasses or hands in a cheer, and he grinned. “Good, cuz it’s time for the main event. The moment you’ve all been waiting for: The Dance Off!” Since it was a rule for each country hosting the event to do so by themselves to keep everything a surprise, no-one had actually been waiting for anything, but they humoured him anyway. Whistles and claps sounded as people waited to hear the event Alfred had planned.

“So, you guys all know what a Dance Off is, but this year I’m gonna combine it with an awesome competition: whoever has the most awesome costume _and _the best moves is crowned the Pumpkin King or Queen! So, dudes and dudettes, get your feet movin’, cuz this is gonna be _epic!” _With that last triumphant declaration, Alfred bowed out to applause and whistles, and the dance floor was soon packed with bodies moving enthusiastically to the driving beat. 


	4. The Dance-off

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aside from Moldova, Bulgaria and France, all the costumes mentioned here and previously are various Hetaween designs Himaruya made, so you can see them online if you want a visual reference. Some of them have mmd models too, which you can see on youtube videos.

Alfred proudly surveyed the crowd twisting and moving under the multicoloured, swirling lights, then walked over to where Arthur was standing alone by one of the tables.

“Hey, Britain, why aren’t you dancing? Don’t ya wanna be the King?” he asked. Arthur shook his head.

“I hosted last year, remember?” he answered the American. “So, it wouldn’t really be fair for me to win again this year. And besides, I don’t think a crown would fit over this hat.”

Alfred scratched his head sheepishly. “Oh yeah, I forgot. But hey, you can still dance!” he said.

“Thank you, but no. As Peter so generously pointed out, I’m not the best dancer. I think I’ll have a drink or two instead.” So saying, Arthur headed over to the drinks table, where Francis and Gil were laughing at Toni and Lovino’s antics on the dance floor - the latter was doing his best to trip the former, resulting in a strange kind of two-step more akin to a comedy routine than a dance number.

The two raised their glasses at the Brit’s approach, and Gil poured him a beer, handing it to him with a grin.

“You aren’t going to dance, _mon ami_?” Francis asked him, raising an eyebrow as Arthur took a deep mouthful of the foaming amber liquid.

“Not right now. Maybe later,” was the absent reply as Arthur watched the couples swirl around.

“I’m not going to either. I think I’d just get in everyone’s way.”

A quiet voice, almost unheard amongst the noise of the party, spoke up. It was Matthew, who had been hiding in the shadows at the back of the room, but now opted to join his friends.

“Holy shit, dude, you scared the crap out of me!” Alfred exclaimed at the other’s sudden appearance. “Were you here the whole time?!”

Matthew smiled faintly, more than used to everyone either ignoring him or simply failing to notice him. It wasn’t his fault he was constantly overshadowed by the older, louder and altogether more obnoxious nation, but he did wish people would make more of an effort sometimes.

“No, I wasn’t” he replied. “But I guess my disguise worked, if I managed to sneak up on you.” Taking full advantage of his lack of presence, Matthew had covered his face and hands in white powder, shadowed his eyes to look like hollow caves, and covered his ripped plaid shirt and jeans in strawberry-flavoured maple syrup. All in all, the picture of a vengeful spirit, doomed to wander the earth in limbo until their soul could rest in peace. 

Gil laughed, red eyes glinting in amusement as he viewed the Americans’ interaction.

“I can teach how you how to dance,” he offered the Canadian, ignoring the side-long glance Francis gave him.

Matthew looked surprised for a moment, then nodded shyly.

“I’d like that,” he said quietly, accepting Gil’s invitation as the Prussian lead him onto the dance floor. Whatever comment Francis was about to make went unspoken as the pair joined the mass of bodies moving in time with the music.

Alfred watched them go, his expression unreadable.

“Huh, he’s actually got some good moves there,” Arthur pointed out. Alfred stuck his chest out proudly as he replied.

“Well, duh, we grew up together. Something was bound to rub off from me.”

The Brit snorted at his friend’s obvious bragging, but held his tongue.

Back on the dance floor, things were progressing in lively fashion. Gil had abandoned showing Matthew his dance moves in favour of coaxing a girl who was standing on the sidelines into being his partner. Natalya’s disdainful sneer suggested she’d much rather remain with the rest of the Russians – all of whom were different characters from Alice in Wonderland - but Gil wasn’t taking no for an answer. After being dragged onto the dance floor, the Belarusian reluctantly began to move in time with the music, surprising everyone with how gracefully her body dipped and swayed to the rhythm, at complete contrast with her Dark Alice outfit. Matthew had continued dancing alone, until he was joined by the Cuban, Juan, who was one of the few countries who treated Matthew as a person, instead of America’s little brother.

Elsewhere, Elizaveta and Roderich moved in flawless synchronisation, their bodies perfectly attuned to one another in the way that came from knowing each other inside out through many years of marriage. The Hungarian’s lithe curves were accentuated in a scarlet succubus nurse costume, while the Austrian’s suave stance was matched by the smart white lab coat he wore as Dr Frankenstein. 

Other couples included Feliks, clad in red-and-white finery as the Ace of Hearts, and Toris, matching his boyfriend as the Ace of Clubs, with Ivan reigning over the rest of the Soviets as the King of Hearts. His subjects included Eduard the Cheshire cat, Raivis the White Rabbit and Katyusha the Hatter. 

Lili was as adorable as ever in what looked like Robin hood-style clothing, her older brother Vash aloof in a similar costume. For some reason, the two were portraying the story of William Tell and his son, hence the apple on Lichtenstein’s head and Switzerland’s bow and arrow. The Netherlands had also opted for a fictional theme, with Emma as Red Riding Hood and her brothers as the Wolf and the woodcutter, Lars and Henri, respectively. Belgium was happily dancing with Luxembourg, while their older brother just looked bored, his usual expression when the situation didn’t involve money.

The micronations were nowhere to be seen, presumably playing hide and seek as Peter said they would. As long as they weren’t causing too much trouble, the older nations didn’t question their whereabouts. 

As the party continued in full swing, Alfred went around with a ballot box, asking everyone who their vote was. Once he had everyone’s lot, he took the box back to the stage and began counting, Matthew assisting him to double-check. Once all the votes were counted, he stood up and let the lights fall on him again.

As the applause from the last song died away, the American took the mic in hand and spoke up.

“And now, ladies and gentlemen, the time we’ve all been waiting for has arrived! As the hero, I can officially announce the winner of this year’s Halloween Party! The nation who gets to host next years’ party is…….”

Cue the dramatic drum roll while Alfred opened the envelope containing the name of the winner, with far more flair than was strictly called for.

The result was somewhat surprising. “RUSSIA! Congrats, my man, you Russkis win the day!” 

Ivan looked confused, but started smiling when everyone began clapping. “Why me?” he asked, not quite believing the decision.

“Because big brother is the best, of course.” Natalya came up behind him, smug triumph on her face as she pushed him gently towards the stage.

“Because you guys totally rocked your costumes, that’s why!” Alfred proclaimed. “Like, matching outfits and all or whatever; I dunno, dude, just get up here and take the crown!” Ivan did as he was told, accepting the crown that the American gave him, stooping as he did so to allow the shorter man to place it on his head.

“So, any plans for next year? You guys do celebrate Halloween in Russia, right?” Alfred asked as Ivan descended from the stage to rejoin the party.

“_Da_. We know how to scare.” Violet eyes glittered as Ivan smiled. Alfred shuddered inwardly, not entirely sure if the Russian was joking or not. With Ivan’s temperament, it was often difficult to tell, thought those closest to him knew he really wasn’t as frightening as his appearance made him out to be.

After congratulations were given and prizes for other costumes were handed out, the dancing resumed, even wilder now that everyone had a few drinks in them, not to mention the sweet treats laid out in a sumptuous feast. It was well after midnight before things began to slow down, countries drifting to the rooms Alfred and the staff had laid out for them. Everyone had their own individual quarters in the World Meeting Centre, but it was up to themselves who they chose to share with, if they so desired.

And so, in twos and threes or simply by themselves, the ghoulish parade headed off, to sleep or in search of more…private activities. The micronations had long since been rounded up and put to bed by their older brothers and sisters, the young ones sharing a room for the sake of convenience. Normally, it would be highly inappropriate for a group of boys and girls ranging from around 7 to 12 years old to sleep in the same room, but the countries knew that their younger siblings would do nothing untoward to each other, pillow fights and telling each other ghost stories notwithstanding. In any case, the little ones were all fast asleep by the time their guardians came to check on them, tired out by their evening of play. 

Satisfied that their siblings were sleeping peacefully and out of trouble, the rest of the nations headed to their own or other’s rooms, and a hush descended over the place as the countries succumbed to sleep.


	5. Breakfast Plans

The next day dawned bright and sunny, not that many were awake to see it so early in the morning. The previous night’s celebration had taken its’ toll, and most nations were still in bed, either still asleep or nursing sore heads and vowing never to drink again. Until the next time, of course, but that was beside the point. 

The micronations, however, suffered no such ill effects. They were all far too young for alcohol, so had been given fruit juice instead, which, while full of sugar, did not make one wake up with a splitting headache, fuzzy tongue and a heartfelt wish that one had never been born.

So it was that around seven in the morning, the first signs of life stirred inside the room. Limbs stretched as bodies shifted, hands covering mouths as they yawned and blinked. As is often the case in sleepovers, each one thought themselves the first to wake up, and spent a few minutes looking blearily around the room, wondering if it was worth going back to sleep or if it was better to try and rouse their sleeping companions.

Peter, as the oldest, was the first to break the silence.

“Psst! Hey, is anyone else awake?” he asked in a loud whisper.

“Well, if I wasn’t before, I am now,” Wy complained, sitting up to peer dazedly at the boy across from her.

“Oh, sorry, Charlotte. Did I actually wake you up?” Peter apologised to the Australian.

“Nah, it’s OK. I wasn’t really asleep,” she assured him, looking around at the others. “I don’t know about the others though. Hey, are you guys still asleep?” She reached out to prod the mound of blankets next to her, and a sleepy head peeked out.

“Huh? What time is it?” The blond inquired, twin braids pooling on the pillow as he sat up and rubbed his eyes.

“Morning, Hans,” Charlotte greeted Kugelmugel as he blinked sleepily.

“Good morning,” he replied. “Did you sleep well?” Being raised by Austria and Hungary, Hans’ manners were impeccable, even whilst only half-awake.

“Yeah, I slept alright, thanks. You?” Hans nodded in answer, then looked around the room. “Are we all awake then?” he asked.

“I don’t know. Hey, Alex, Erl, rise and shine. Time to get up.” Peter’s words provoked a sleepy mumble from the other two beds, side by side.

“Vampires don’t do mornings” was the muffled protest from the bed on the left, while “Internet’s down. Go away,” came from the other.

“You’re not a real vampire, and the internet doesn’t stop working just because it’s early,” Peter reasoned. Reluctantly, Alexandru and Erland poked their heads out from underneath the duvets and sat up, stretching little limbs as they yawned and rubbed the dust from their eyes.

“OK. We’re all up. Now what?” Charlotte asked, turning to the self-appointed leader. Peter thought about it for a moment, then grinned as he had an idea.

“Well, I don’t know about you lot, but I’m hungry. Let’s get breakfast, and we can decide what to do later on. The adults won’t be up yet, but mum’s been teaching me to cook so I’m sure I can make something.” Peter replied confidently. Mum in this case was Tino, who tended to cook for the rest of the Nordics when the family had meals together.

“As long as it’s not something England taught you, fine by me,” Erland said. Arthur had a high opinion of his talent in the kitchen, but no-one else appreciated his culinary efforts - most things he touched turned to charcoal.

“Hey! Unlike that jerk, _I _can cook!” Peter retorted indignantly.

“Whatever, let’s get going then.” Wy stopped the argument, picking up the bag by her bed and disappearing into the bathroom that joined onto the room. Each of the micronations had been left with a bag containing their normal clothes, as well as pyjamas and toothbrushes. Knowing that their stay would likely include the night as well, their siblings had thoughtfully provided the younger countries with sleepover essentials.

The boys had finished changing as well by the time Charlotte finished, and lined up to brush their teeth as she combed out her hair and styled it into the side-ponytail she usually wore it in.

Once they were all dressed and presentable, the micronations headed downstairs in search of breakfast. In the kitchen, they found they weren’t in fact the only ones up, as a man was standing in front of the cooker, and the delicious scent of toast and scrambled eggs filled the air. Little stomachs growled appreciatively, and the man turned around.

“_Ciao_, guys. Wow, you’re all up early.” Sebastian greeted the kids as they filed in and sniffed hungrily at the mouth-watering aroma. “Are you ready for breakfast?”

A chorus of agreement sounded, and Sebastian laughed. “I’ll put enough for 5 on, then” he said. They all nodded enthusiastically, and the Seborgan turned back to the hob, cracking eggs into the bowl and adding salt and pepper. More bread went into the toaster, and soon plates of food were steaming gently in front of the ravenous horde. Sebastian smiled at their thanks, then loaded a tray with two plates of food and two cups of coffee.

“Why do you have a tray?” Alexandru asked curiously. “Are you really hungry?”

The older micronation chuckled. “No, one of these is for Emilie. We’re having breakfast in bed.” Emilie du Carteret, also known as the Channel Islands, was a petite young woman with pretty blue/green eyes, honey blond hair and a mischievous nature.

“That sounds rather messy,” Hans observed quietly, but was drowned out by Ladonia’s question.

“How come you get to have breakfast in bed? _We_ can’t,” he demanded crossly.

Sebastian winked. “That’s for me to know and you not to find out,” he replied. “And speaking of not finding out, whatever mischief you _bambinos _are planning, I promise not to tell anyone if you put the dishes in the sink properly once you’re done. Sound fair?”

The children nodded, satisfied, and Sebastian headed back upstairs. Once he was gone, the micronations finished their breakfast, then did as they were told, piling the dishes in the sink and running the water over them for a bit. And once they were finished, it was time to put their plan into action.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Emilie du Carteret is an OC for the Channel Islands that me and my sister kikitwintai2 came up with. The Channel Islands are an interesting place because they’re sort of half English and half French, in fact their slogan is ‘Nearer to France but closer to home’, or something along those lines anyway. They’re also the only part of the British Isles that was ever actually occupied by German forces during WW2. 
> 
> Shameless advertising, I know, but please give my sister's stories a read too!


	6. Candry Rush

The five micronations headed into the now-empty main hall where the party had been held. With the curtains drawn and the sun’s rays shining though the material, it looked far less spooky than it had before. The emptiness that would have probably have been weird and frightening in the dark now just seemed lonely and still in the light of day. Without the pulsing lights, blaring music and lively atmosphere, the room just looked a mess, strewn as it was with leftover decorations, food and drink.

For a moment, the children were disappointed. Now that the event itself was over, the excitement was lessened somehow, like the day after one’s birthday when one realises that apart from being a year older, nothing has changed after all. 

Shaking themselves free of the gloomy thoughts, the nations wandered into the middle of the room, curiously investigating everything on display. They hadn’t actually had much time to look around the day before, being more interested in the food available and the chance to stay up playing far later than their usual curfews. 

The ornate clock hanging on the wall above the stage showed that it was only around quarter past 8, so the group knew they had plenty of time to themselves before the adults started surfacing after their hangovers wore off.

For a few minutes, the micronations ran around, examining the decorations and trying on the masks and costume pieces left lying on the floor. Eventually, though, they tired of pretending to be goblins, witches and ghosts and gathered in a loose circle in the middle of the room.

“So, any ideas what to do now?” The nations looked at one another, each one wondering who would be the first to say it.

“Well, there’s all those sweets just lying there…and the adults aren’t awake yet…It’d be a shame to let them go to waste…” Peter suggested, a look of utter mischief sparking in his bright blue eyes.

Five heads turned to survey the array of colourful snacks lining the tables, mouths watering at the temptation inherent in the sugary delights. To their credit, the quintet did hesitate for a moment, knowing that all that sugar so soon after breakfast was not the best idea. But in the end, temptation won out, and the smaller nations tiptoed over to the tables where the goodies lay, wondering what to pick first. 

Charlotte went for the cookies, while Hans chose pastries. Erland opted for cake, and Alexandru, chocolate. Peter, however, set his eyes on another prize. Going over to a cake decorated with what looked like an assortment of little boxes and squares, he confirmed his suspicions by picking up one of the cubes, popping it into his mouth with a huge grin.

“What is that?” Charlotte asked, her mouth smeared with jam from the tart she’d just bit into.

Peter’s expression was pure bliss as he replied in a tone of reverence. “Liquorice!”

“What’s so special about that?” Hans asked. “It’s good, yes, but not as nice as other sweets.”

Erland spoke up in his brother’s place. “It’s Emil’s favourite,” he explained. “It’s not so much that Peter really likes it too, it’s just that he doesn’t often get any ‘cuz Iceland hogs it all.”

The others nodded in understanding, and continued their feast, comparing flavours and textures. ‘You have to try this one’, ‘Ooh, this is really good’, ‘What about this? That’s my favourite.’ ‘Yummy!”

As the nations’ stomachs became filled with delicious treats, all the sugar they consumed began to take effect, filling their bodies with pent-up energy. And when the friends became unable to take another bite, completely full up with all the food they’d eaten, they began looking for an outlet to channel the buzz that was filling their veins.

Peter retrieved his sword from where it had been lying on the floor after he dropped it the previous night, and briefly challenged the others to a duel. Plastic weapons clacked as an impromptu fencing match broke out, broken up with giggling and shouts of ‘take that, you villain!’ as the mock-fight spread into the hallway. Hearing the clock chime twice – half past nine - brought the five to their senses, as they stopped and nervously waited to see if the noise had drawn the attention of any adults.

Tense minutes passed, but no-one came to investigate. Either the adults weren’t awake yet (with the exception of Sebastian and Emilie), or they simply didn’t bother with what their younger siblings were doing. Actually, come to think of it, the main hall was fairly far away from the sleeping quarters; maybe no-one could hear what was going on, or at least ignored it from this distance. Emboldened by this idea, the friends looked towards the wide staircases standing proudly on either side of the room.

Plush carpeted steps lead up to the second-floor rooms where the meetings were held. Ornate golden posts held up the banisters sweeping in a gentle curve from one floor to another. Banisters made of solid oak, polished to a glorious shine and gleaming proudly in the sunlight. Banisters worn smooth from years of hands running along the surface of the thick, old wood. That ended in a flourishing curl tucked inwards, not a ball of iron. Banisters that were certainly wide enough to hold a small child or two.

In other words, what the children saw in front of them was the opportunity to do something they’d always wanted to: slide down those wonderfully smooth and polished panels like sledges on snow. It was an action expressly forbidden by the adults, not only because it was dangerous and more than likely to result in bruises and scraped knees, if not outright concussion depending on the landing, but also due to the age and condition of the antique wood. The staircases were maintained to the highest standard, having been there for many centuries already, and the nations wanted to keep them for many, many more. Children using them as a glorified playground slide was _not _something to be encouraged, or even considered for that matter.

But the adults weren’t here, nor were they likely to be for some time. And what was a graze or too when you were immortal? The micronations knew that any minor injuries would heal within a day, and even severe wounds would still fade without a trace, unless it was the result of war. Which this certainly wasn’t, so it was fine. And as for the lecture that would no doubt ensue, well, that would be dealt with when the time came. For now, the temptation was too great to resist.


	7. Helter-Skelter, Tricks and Traits

After exchanging gleeful looks and nodding to one another in agreement, the micronations set their plan in action. Working quickly, they moved back and forth between the party hall and other rooms leading off from the main hall, gathering cushions from the chairs and couches dotted around. Piling the cushions in two large heaps at the foot of the stairs, the nations stepped back and surveyed the scene.

The soft padding would provide a perfect landing, minimalizing the chances of injury and hopefully lessening the risk of detection if an adult caught them. They could always pretend they were making a pillow fort instead of sliding down the stairs – much safer, and far less likely to provoke a scolding.

Each of the five chose a cushion to use as their support, and they tiptoed up the stairs, avoiding the middle of the treads to prevent them from creaking. They’d closed the doors on either side to further soundproof the room, but they didn’t want to risk being caught so early on in the game. 

As the leader, Peter went first. Holding the cushion in place, he swung a leg over the banister and held on to the rail next to him to prevent an untimely flight. Behind him, Wy waited impatiently for her turn, and on the other side stood Hans, Erland and Alexandru.

Waiting for Hans to ready himself, Peter looked over and nodded.

“Here we gooooooo!” he cried, forgetting to be quiet as the exhilaration took hold. Hans let go as well, and the two sped down the wood, Hans’ braids flying out behind him as he went. They shot off the end as the descent stopped, shooting across the polished floor before crashing into the mound of cushions. They lay there, panting a little, before clambering to their feet and sharing a triumphant grin. 

“That was fun!” Peter exclaimed, pushing the cushions back into place for Wy. Hans did the same for Erland’s turn, then turned to face the older boy.

“Papa would be furious if he knew we were doing this,” he admitted, face flushing slightly as he conjured up the image of his guardian’s stern face.

“Who cares?” Peter dismissed the idea with a wave of his hand. “That was brilliant! Let’s do it again!”

“Is it my turn now?” Wy called impatiently from the top of the stairs.

“Yes, sorry!” They replied as they rushed back up, rejoining the three waiting their turn.

Charlotte and Erland grinned. “O.K, here goes. Yahoo!” They released their hold on the railing at the same time, flying down the wood with twin shrieks of joy. They, too, hit the cushions with no harm and popped up a moment later, joy written across their faces.

“Go on Alex, your turn!” Peter urged the youngest member as the Australian and Ladonian retrieved their cushions and climbed back up.

The little Moldovan needed no further encouragement. When Peter released his hold on Alex’s coat, the boy shot forward, sliding down the sloped wood with alarming speed. Being the smallest and lightest, he had even less resistance than the others, so his flight was even quicker. However, the safety mats at the end did their work, so even though he tumbled head-over-heels once he reached the bottom, Alexandru was unharmed. He picked his cushion up and joined his friends at the top, beaming from ear to ear.

“That was some landing, mate. Are you alright?” Charlotte asked worriedly, looking concerned at the younger one.

“Dizzy,” Alexandru replied as he blinked away the sensation that the world was spinning. He looked up, eyes wide as he beamed. “But that was fun! Can we go again?”

“You bet!” was the enthusiastic reply.

The sport continued for several rounds, with the micronations growing more adventurous each time. Emboldened by the sugar high still coursing through their bodies, their efforts to impress one another by crazy stunts and tricks became increasingly dangerous. Peter tried to stand up, almost falling over before he was forced to abandon the attempt and jump off halfway. Charlotte took it a step further by using a flatter cushion, actually succeeding in riding the make-shift surfboard with the smoothness of years of practice.

Erland tried going down headfirst, which resulted in him crashing into the cushions like a plane in a nosedive. Thankfully, he emerged unharmed, the soft fabric having broken his fall. Hans was a little more conservative, focusing on the landing rather than the flight itself. He timed the topmost parabola of the jump as the cushion parted from the wood, landing on the polished floor with the ease of an accomplished gymnast.

It was Alexandru, though, who had the best stunt of all. He used his wings to provide a buffer for his speed, the bat-like appendages spread out to their fullest extent. As he came to the end of the banister, he used the momentum to provide a lift, flapping them once and hovering in the air. He picked his cushion up and flew back to his friends, alighting on the top step with a cheeky grin.

“Show off!”

“No fair!”

“That was amazing!” 

“You can fly?!”

The four gaped at him with astonished expressions, and Alexandru’s grin widened further, his face a picture of angelic innocence.

“Big brother’s been teaching me. I’m not very good though.” He admitted shyly, secretly pleased to have a talent none of the others did.

“Blimey, mate, none of us can, so I’d say you’re doing alright,” Charlotte said, eyebrows raised at the trick the little vampire had revealed.

“You can fly, but you still want to slide down banisters?” Peter asked, jealously evident in his tone. He may have been named after a magical boy with the powers of flight, but that didn’t mean he could emulate him.

“I can fly any time I want when big brother’s with me.” Alexandru replied. “I’m not allowed to do this at all!”

“Flying is an Art, and all Art should be encouraged.” With Hans’ wise words on the matter, the subject was dropped and the game continued, the nations heedless of the fact that by this point the mansion was starting to show signs of life. Doors opened and closed and voices greeted each other, hurried footsteps rushing through the halls as the adults woke up and realised their siblings were no longer in bed.

It was, of course, inevitable that things would come to a head, and they did so when Arthur arrived on the scene to investigate what on earth all the noise coming from downstairs was. Hearing the high-pitched shouts and seeing the empty beds, he and the others had put two and two together, realising that whatever their younger siblings were up to, it could only mean bad news. 

Nothing could have prepared them for the sight before their eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Word of warning, don't do this at home, people! Unless you are the personification of a country, and therefore immortal, you are likely to end up seriously hurt. Stick to playgrounds and funfairs, it's probably safer :D


	8. This Can Only End in Tears...

Arthur stood in the entrance to the hall, eyebrows raised almost to his hairline as he stared in shock at the sight he beheld. Peter had just taken off once more, yelling a war cry as he slid down the stairs. Opposite him, Hans did the same, neither realising yet that they had been discovered.

“WHAT THE BLOODY HELL DO YOU LOT THINK YOU’RE PLAYING AT?!” Arthur bellowed, horror, outrage and disbelief warring on his face.

What happened next seemed to play out in slow motion, like one of the martial-arts movies Kiku and Yao were so fond of. Peter and Hans crashed into the pile of cushions at the end of their ride, most of which were looking noticeable frayed by now, if not completely burst. Caught completely by surprise at the Englishman’s outburst, they could only gape at him from their twisted positions, faces frozen in shock as their minds went blank.

Too late, the nations belatedly realised that Arthur yelling so loud had not been a good idea, as Erland and Charlotte, whose turns it had been to go next, prematurely released their hold on the railing. Their hands reflexively lost their grip in fright when they heard the furious shout, and Arthur could only watch in horror as they plummeted down the balustrades. Twin screams of panic echoed as they shot down the smooth wood at an uncontrollable speed, colliding with the two already at the bottom in a chaotic jumble of limbs. 

Meanwhile, Alexandru, who had been hovering above the landing, let out a squeak of fright, losing control of his wings and tumbling down the stairs like a puppet with its’ strings cut. Unfortunately, his unplanned landing sent him crashing to the hard wooden floor, denied the cushioning that the others had at least been given. He hit the ground hard and lay, unmoving, while his friends were groaning in the pile of cushions, dazed and unable to process exactly what had happened. 

The pile of cushions at the end of the stairs had burst open from the repeated impacts; feathers and stuffing were strewn around the floor, and the banisters that had been so carefully maintained were scuffed and streaked with bootprints and skid marks. On both mounds lay a tangle of bodies, the children whimpering as they tried to extricate bruised arms and legs from underneath the cushions and each other.

Arthur was the first to take action. Recovering from the shock, he strode into the room, quickly followed by the rest of the Allies. He ordered Alfred to fetch a first aid kit, and the younger nation rushed off, glad to have something to do to help. Meanwhile, he went over to Alexandru, scooping the unconscious boy up and placing him down gently amid what was left of the cushions. 

Hungary rushed forward to tend to Hans, gathering him up and soothing the child’s sobs. Tino and Berwald followed after, the Swede helping Peter to his feet while Tino hugged Erland, reassuring the young nation that he wasn’t angry, just worried. Someone had fetched Kyle and Sean, and the Australian and New Zealander tended to their younger sister as she smoothed herself down and tried to pretend she wasn’t as hurt as she looked.

Alfred came back into the room, Vlad at his side as he followed the American, curious as to why the other country required medical aid. When he got to the room, however, his eyes widened in concern, face lined with worry as he spotted the small form lying on the cushions and the children in varying levels of distress, being comforted by their guardians.

“Alexei!” he cried, pushing past the American and falling to his knees by his brother’s side. He lifted the Moldovan’s head, patting his cheek as he stared frantically at the pale face. Arthur hurriedly explained the situation as Vlad cradled his younger brother, anxiously waiting for him to come round.

“Come on, Alexei, open your eyes.” Vlad’s worried voice seemed to have the desired effect, as the smaller nation stirred in his arms, crimson eyes opening to gaze up at his older brother.

“Big brother? What happened? My head hurts.” He complained, blinking as his eyes slowly came back into focus.

“You took a very nasty tumble down the stairs.” Arthur replied, exchanging a glance with Vlad. “Do you remember?” His words were careful, probing – he was trying to establish if the younger nation had concussion or not.

Alexandru made as if to nod, then stopped when it hurt his head.

“Da, I remember.” He said. “We were playing, then you came in and told us off. I fell down and then…I don’t know what happened after that. Everything went black.”

“You hit your head.” Arthur explained. “And likely everywhere else to. Where else does it hurt?” 

The younger nation considered the question for a moment, then replied in a small voice.

“My shoulder. And my elbows. And knees. I-I’m sorry, big brother. I won’t fly without you again. Please don’t be angry with me.” Crimson eyes filled with tears as Alexandru looked up at his brother. Vlad hugged him as the little nation sobbed, rocking him back and forth to ease his pain.

“Shh, Alexei, I’m not angry. I’m just worried that you hurt yourself. Don’t ever do that again when I’m not here, O.K?

The brunette nodded, sniffing as his crying wore down. It seemed as though he was out of danger, scared and upset, but not suffering from any head trauma.

Once everything was brought under control and the children were somewhat calmer, Arthur addressed them all again.

“Whose idea was it exactly to play this game?” he asked. “I know you’re young, but you’re not stupid. This is exactly why we forbid you to do this – you could have been seriously hurt. Look what happened to Alex; and he got off lightly, all things considered. It could have been a lot worse.”

The micronations looked at one another, each one unwilling to own up. 

“We were…I mean…I…we just…” Peter stammered, taking responsibility for once as the eldest.

“You were just _what_? Trying to get yourselves killed? Having a competition to see who could be the most reckless? Blimey, Peter, I know you want attention, but I didn’t think even you would go _this_ far.” Arthur’s words stung, and the younger nation hung his head in shame.

“England, stop. Lecturing them at this point won’t do any good,” Francis gently told his friend.

Arthur sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he replied.

“Yes, alright, I’m sorry. But tell me one thing; does this activity have anything to do with the amount of food that’s missing from the tables? I’m sure there’s less than there was last night, particularly in regards to the sweets.” The micronations looked guilty, shifting from foot to foot as they realised they were in double trouble now, both for playing where they shouldn’t and because their sugary raid had been discovered. 

“We were just hungry!”

“It looked so yummy, I couldn’t help it.”

“I only wanted a taste.”

“We didn’t mean to make a mess.”

“Please don’t be mad at us!”

The voices rushed over one another as the nations tried to explain themselves, fresh tears falling as they waited for the scolding that was sure to come. Arthur held up his hands for quiet, waiting until they calmed down again.

“Pack it in, all of you,” He said wearily. “You’re all as bad each other, that’s clear. But what’s done is done, and there’s no point in going on about it. For now, I think it’s best that we all have a nice cup of tea and something to eat – _not_ full of sugar this time – and then we can sort things out. Alright?”

They nodded tearfully, glad to have escaped punishment for the time being.

“Right. Come on, then. I’m sure things will look better after a slice of toast.”

So saying, Arthur headed into the kitchen, the other nations picking up their respective charges and following him. Breakfast – actually, it was almost lunchtime now, considering the time - was served, and the incident was put on hold as bruises were kissed better and grazes bandaged up. The damage would be dealt with later, once everyone had eaten. 


	9. The Clean-up

Once everyone had a full stomach and was properly dressed, the nations congregated in the main hall to assess what needed to be done. It was a rule among the nations that the job of cleaning up after communal parties was shared equally between everyone; it wasn’t fair to make the staff do all the work, and it instilled a sense of responsibility in those who may otherwise have been inclined to leave the task to someone else.

By this point, the micronations’ sugar high had long since worn off, leaving the children irritable and tired, snapping half-heartedly at one another and those around them. The adults knew they didn’t mean the things they said, accusing each other of who got whom into trouble in the first place. Their bickering was stopped by the mugs of warm milk placed in their hands, along with a slice of toast. The older nations had avoided giving them anything more in the way of stimulants, meaning no tea, coffee, hot chocolate or even juice.

The drinks had another effect instead; as the micronations’ bodies ran out of energy, they grew sleepy, worn out by the absence of sugar and all the running around they’d been doing. They were carried off to bed for a nap, to sleep off their exhaustion and the aftermath of crying. The staff had wisely begun changing the sheets in the rooms as soon as the nations went downstairs, knowing that some of the sheets were in no condition to be slept in again, especially not by a child.

Once the children were settled down and sleeping peacefully, the older nations set to work. There were two main jobs to be done: that of cleaning up after the party in the main room, and that of tidying up the mess in the stairway that the micronations had made. One could argue that the two were, essentially, one and the same, but the difference was that the former had been expected, whilst the latter had been an unpleasant surprise.

But there was no use regretting what couldn’t be changed. The nations collectively rolled up their sleeves, sorted themselves into loose groups, and got to work. One unit set about collecting the rubbish and sorting it into respective categories – food waste to be recycled, disposable plates to be thrown away, decorations to be discarded or set aside to be used next year, and so on. Another organised a human chain of dishes and bowls to be washed and dried, a production line of carriers and cleaners going between the kitchen and the hall. Others took the side room where the micronations had had their fun, sorting out what to do about the state of the cushions and the stairs.

Some of the paddings were wrecked beyond repair, little more than plush scraps of cloth with a few fluffy feathers or bits of cotton clinging to them. Others were more intact, with only a portion of stuffing having been lost. The ones that were no longer usable were thrown out, and the ones that could be salvaged were put aside to be fixed later on. The stairs, meanwhile, were being very carefully polished and waxed to restore them to their former glory. Luckily, the children hadn’t actually caused as much damage as had first appeared to be the case, the cushions having taken the brunt of the destruction.

The causes of said devastation woke from their slumber around halfway through the clean-up effort, and contritely offered to help repair the damage they’d caused.

Each was given a different task to do – Charlotte helped with washing up, Peter with carrying the bowls and plates to her, Erland with litter duty and Alexandru with taking down the decorations. Hans volunteered to help with the cushions, disappearing upstairs before anyone could stop him and reappearing a moment later with a needle and thread. He sat down amid the cushions that had been deemed suitable to be kept, taking the ones in need of repair and neatly sewing their torn edges up with precise, even stiches.

The work continued on with until well into the afternoon, finally finishing as the sky outside turned from brilliant oranges and reds, purples and turquoises to a deep, rich navy like a spill of ink. It had taken much good-natured swearing and banter, but eventually all the rooms were set to rights, restored to their former spotlessness and showing no signs of their abuse.

The nations congratulated one another at the result of their hard work, and the atmosphere relaxed as everyone wound down, enjoying the tiredness that came from spending the day productively. Once they recovered from the activity, it was time to say goodbye and head for home, bidding one another farewell until the next World Meeting.

The micronations were completely exhausted again by this point, and were carried away by their equally tired guardians. Vlad carried a sleepy Alexandru; Tino and Berwald supported Peter and Erland as they tripped over their own feet (I’m not tired, really, I can walk just fine on my own…), Kyle gave a dozing Charlotte a piggyback, keeping a tight hold on her so she didn’t fall off, and Elizaveta cradled the worn-out Hans in her arms.

When everyone had finally left, all that remained was for Alfred to lock up the doors and head home himself. Even a hero like him needed a good night’s sleep after the day’s unexpected events; not that it hadn’t been fun, in its’ own crazy way. But hopefully things would go more smoothly at the next world meeting. With that in mind, Alfred went down the steps and into the car where Francis, Arthur and Matthew were waiting.

The four drove off into the night, and silence reigned over the mansion. Peace, finally, at last. Until next time, of course…


	10. Epilogue

It was another day at the World Meeting centre, and the micronations were once again left to their own devices as the older nations gathered to discuss politics, trade and other such boring matters. The micronations, as usual, were banned from entering the adult’s talk unless there was an emergency, so had congregated in one of the side rooms, where they looked for alternate sources of entertainment.

Charlotte and Peter decided to have a competition to see who could build the tallest house of cards, while Erland was absorbed in one of his online games. Hans, of course, was in his own world as he worked away in his sketchbook, and Alexandru was watching with fascination as the picture began to take shape.

“What’s it going to be?” he asked curiously, drinking in the details Hans’ delicate lines described upon the page.

“You’ll see,” Hans replied, not looking up as he turned a page and started a fresh drawing. 

Alexandru nodded, understanding that his friend needed to concentrate. He wandered over to Ladonia and sat watching over the other’s shoulder as he played his tournament, the spiky haired nation explaining how the game worked.

Soon, Hans was finished his drawing, and came over to show his friends. He had drawn a tableau of the five at play, when they had ignored the warnings of their elders and played toboggan in the hall.

Hans had captured the vitality and energy of the scene that day; but had transformed the image to that of a fairy tale illustration. Thus, instead of the room where the action had taken place in reality, the five were transported to a mythical land. Peter was flying through the air, arms spread wide as his face split open in a triumphant grin – his bright green tunic and brown leather boots leaving a trail of glittering yellow dust as he soared through the sky. Erland sat crossed-legged on a magical carpet, and Hans sat astride a huge wooden paintbrush, long white braids trailing out behind him. Charlotte flew alongside Sealand as his fairy companion, and Alexandru hovered above them, wings extended as the breeze of the flight ruffled the long sleeves of his trademark coat.

The four were amazed at the Austrian’s skill, exclaiming their praise at the attention to detail and vibrant colours. One could almost feel the wind caressing their face, taste the magic as they sped through the sky.

While they were congratulating him, the door opened to admit Tino and Vlad, followed by Roderich and Sean. They had come to collect their charges, having finished the meeting a few minutes ago.

Alexandru ran up to Vlad, hugging his brother around the waist as he excitedly greeted him. He tugged the other’s sleeve, beckoning him over.

“Look what Hans drew!” he said, pointing to the sketchbook in Kugelmugel’s lap. “Isn’t it amazing! I wish I could draw that well. Don’t you think so, big brother?” Vlad chuckled, amused by his brother’s obvious enthusiasm. He assured the younger nation that his art would improve as well if he kept it up, and bent over to examine the drawing, Roderich leaning over as well to view his protégé’s work. The Romanian whistled in surprise when he saw the picture.

“That’s some drawing, kiddo,” he told the younger nation. “Bet your papa’s proud of you. _Nu-i așa,_ Roderich?” The Austrian nodded, placing an affectionate hand on the micronation’s shoulder.

“Of course I am, it’s to be expected. He is _my_ son, after all.” Roderich replied, pride colouring his tone. “It stands to reason he inherited my talents.” 

Tino congratulated the artist on his work as well, then turned to Peter, who demanded his father see what his own son had created. Unfortunately, just as he placed the last pair of cards on the top of the – admittedly enormous – structure, he lost his balance, sending the whole magnificent tower fluttering to the ground. He said a word that earned him a swift cuff round the ear from a shocked Tino (no doubt Mathias was the one who taught him such language, and the Dane could look forward to a stern lecture for it later), and stared at the cards lying on the floor in dismay.

Seeing his son’s face turn dark, Tino hastened to cheer him up. “Don’t worry, Peter, it looked wonderful as it was.” He assured the boy. “You can always make another one at home later.” Peter nodded reluctantly, and set about gathering the deck lying strewn across the floor. The other nations helped, then soon it was time to say goodbye. Roderich took Hans off to Elizaveta and Gilbert, Vlad and Alexandru went to find Dmitri, and Sean and Charlotte wandered off in search of Kyle. Peter, Tino and Erland rejoined the rest of the Nordics, and the guardians breathed a sigh of relief at having avoided a repeat of the events of the past.

There would, of course, be many more adventures and exploits in the future, as children seek to entertain themselves in ever more inventive ways, and many more of these adventures will inevitably end in scolding and laughter, becoming stories to tell themselves.

But those, dear reader, are tales for another day. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we have it, the first ever fanfic I wrote, and the first (but hopefully not the only) multi-chapter. Thanks for reading! :)


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